An honest conversation about death, dignity, and choosing how we go.
Wow.
I felt the temperature in the room shift—just at the mere mention of death.
Why?! Why are we so damn scared to talk about this thing that is as inevitable as sunrise? Is it the unknown? The finality? The loss of control? Or is it just the unbearable silence that follows the last breath?
If we were promised some kind of blissful afterlife, would we still run from death at all costs—or would we celebrate it, knowing a party’s waiting on the other side? Would we still clutch so tightly to this earthly plane, even when our bodies are screaming to let go?
When Survival Isn’t Living
Lately, death has taken up a lot of space in my mind. A close acquaintance passed recently, after a long battle with health issues that were never going to improve. In and out of the hospital. Constant strain. And after she passed, I heard someone say, “It’s so sad, but at least they’re (she and her family) not suffering anymore.” That struck me—hard.
Would she have chosen death with dignity, if it were an option? I don’t know. But knowing her condition wasn’t going to improve—knowing she was merely surviving—makes me wonder:
Why do we spend so much time, money, and energy keeping people alive when we know, with absolute certainty, that their suffering will only continue?
At what point does the patient get a say in their own end-of-life journey?
In 2018, we lost my mother-in-law after a long, brutal fight with a rare, incurable disease called Multiple System Atrophy.
In her final years, she was bed-ridden, reliant on machines to eat, breathe, exist. Even if she had been ready to go, she couldn’t have told us. We watched as this bright, vibrant light dimmed slowly, painfully—her body ravaged while doctors continued to “save” her so she could lie in bed, watch TV, and have people come talk at her, not with her. Was that really living? Or just a slow, suffocating goodbye?
Now, I face my own journey with an incurable, progressive disease. It’s already taken so much—my independence, my ease, my spontaneity. And I can’t help but ask: when is it time to throw in the towel? And more painfully… will I even get a say?
The Hardest Question
I’ve danced with the thought of suicide—dark, desperate moments when it seemed like the only way out. But love has always pulled me back. Love for my people. My wild, beautiful, messy crew. That tether. That ache. That loyalty.
Still, I have to ask the hardest question I know:
Do you love me enough to let me go?
Because that, my dear ones, is the ultimate act of love. The gift of peace. The release from pain. Just like it would be selfish for me to vanish without warning, it is also selfish to ask someone to stay trapped in a failing body—just to make us feel better.
Death with Dignity
That’s where Death with Dignity laws come in.
These laws are not about giving up. They’re about choosing—about reclaiming control when illness has stolen nearly everything else. They are about choice. Compassion. Dignity. Autonomy.
Although difficult, we will ease the suffering of a beloved pet, whispering, “It’s okay, you can rest now.” But for humans? Suddenly, there’s moral panic. We clutch our pearls. We mutter about “playing God.” When all we’re really asking is to exit this life with grace, the same way we lived it—on our own damn terms.
Let me be clear:
I am not advocating for death.
I am advocating for dignity.
I am advocating for conversations that don’t get shut down by fear or discomfort. I am advocating for options—for the freedom to choose how we say goodbye.
And let me also be clear: I still believe in miracles. I still believe in spontaneous healing, in divine intervention, in the possibility that something unexpected and beautiful could shift this entire journey. I’ve seen it happen. I hold space for that magic. But I would also feel immense relief knowing that if the healing doesn’t come, I’m not trapped. I’m not without a say. There is another path—one paved with compassion, grace, and sovereignty.
Currently, only 10 states—and Washington, D.C.—have Death with Dignity laws in place. And of those, only Oregon and Vermont have removed their residency requirements, making it possible for people from out of state to access these compassionate options. The fact that geography can determine our end-of-life choices is heartbreaking. Dignity shouldn’t depend on a zip code. This is why advocacy and awareness are so critical. We must keep pushing for change.’
Maybe It’s Peace
I don’t know what’s waiting on the other side. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.
Or maybe it’s just peace. And maybe… that’s enough.
What I do know is this:
Every breath is sacred.
But so is the right to stop breathing when the cost becomes too great.
So again, if you’re someone who loves me, I’ll ask:
Do you love me enough to let me go, when the time comes?
And if you’re standing in that in-between space—between holding on and letting go—I see you. I honor you. I pray you find peace, power, and a voice loud enough to speak your truth… even in the shadows.
This isn’t about choosing death.
This is about choosing how we live, right up until the last heartbeat.
And I choose love.
I choose truth.
I choose dignity.
“If you love somebody, set them free.”
~Sting
Comments
15 responses to “Do You Love Me Enough to Let Me Go?”
Well this hits home … I wrote a paper in college about this after watching my dad wither in a nursing home. My mom just did the same in March… My sisters and I talked about euthanizing dogs, why couldn’t we Do this for our parents … ugh. My kids & partner know to let me GO!
It’s so important to have those things in writing because no one you love wants to make that decision on their own.
Excellent article. Conveyed my thoughts
As well
Additionally I felt that we are troubling our healthy loved ones who have to take care of us and also cut short their life
Death with dignity is the right goal
Thanks, Sivan! I did read an article recently that said caregivers have a shorter life span. I hate always asking for help and being a burden on the ones I love!
That’s a really uncomfortable subject for a lot of people. That’s too bad because, it’s really one we should be talking about more.
I avoided it for the first couple years with multiple sclerosis because it felt like I was making end of life decisions for a non-fatal disease. The reality is, disease or not everybody has to get to the end and we should put at least as much thought into it as preparing for the beginning.
This isn’t exactly what you were talking about in your essay, but it made me think about it. This is a blog post I wrote years ago before I started a weekly column for multiple sclerosis news today.
https://18disabled.com/survivors-envy/
Thanks, Ben! And thanks for sharing your post. Happy to bring more awareness to this very sensitive topic.
Just because we can keep people alive doesn’t mean we should. From birth until and including death, each individual should be in charge of their own health and choices. Dignity in life and death are essential to a compassionate existence.
As a nurse, I regularly have to ask patients and doctors to identifying “the why” behind testing and treatment. Do they want to participate in that? Is it going to improve their quality of life? Or just their quantity? What is the cost to them and their family? What are the patient’s goals? Is this working towards that?
The other part of the conversation about death and dignity is the inclusive of palliative and hospice services. Too many physicians don’t talk about all the options available to help patients and their families. Their are amazing organizations that can help families live out last wishes or connect to lost loved ones. The conversation about letting go should include what do you want to the rest of your time to look like and how do we make that happen together. Palliative care and hospice do not have to be the last days and hours. There can be services, education, and support received over months. Giving time to process and accept and love.
With all the love we have for you and your family, we are here to keep loving you all in whatever way is best for you.
Thank you so much for this deeply thoughtful and wise response. Your perspective as a nurse adds such rich depth to this conversation, and I’m truly grateful for the way you framed it—especially the reminder to ask “the why” behind care. That kind of clarity is sacred, and not nearly as common as it should be.
You’re so right: dignity isn’t just about the end—it’s about every choice, every breath, every conversation along the way. I couldn’t agree more that palliative and hospice care deserve a louder voice at the table. They are not the end of hope—they are hope, reframed with love, compassion, and intention.
Thank you for holding this space with such grace, and for the love you send my way. I feel it. And I hope you know how much I love you all right back. 💛
Wow! Thanks for sharing your thoughts and it resonates with me “..do you love me enough to let me go?” I hope that I can lean into that question when the time comes and encourage my family to consider it as well. You are too darn young to have to have this take up mental space but I am grateful you shared it and I hope that gives you some peace of mind as well. Godspeed!
Thank you so much! I’m touched that it resonated with you, and I pray that when the time comes, we all have the strength, clarity, and compassion to hold space for each other in that kind of love. Your kindness means more than you know. 💛 Godspeed right back to you.
Such an important discussion! Thanks for being brave and vulnerable enough to start it.
I’m reading your blog with tears pouring down my face. I just had to make this decision for my brother on March 31st. I still second guess my decision to let him go with some dignity left rather than continue more tests and more operations on his weak and exhausted body. While the doctor removed the breathing machine, pushing profofol and other drugs into his system to relax him so he didn’t feel like he was suffocating without the machines, he did come to once and looked around the room. Our entire family was there, we played his favorite music from Journey and held his hand. I often wonder if he looked at us as to ask why we were giving up on him or if he was looking at us to let us know we made the right decision. I guess I will never know but reading your blog has me hoping that it was the latter. Thank you for your blog.
Thank you so much for sharing this vulnerable and sacred moment. What you did for your brother took immense love and courage. Sitting with him, surrounding him with music, with touch, with family—that is dignity. That is love.
I can only imagine how hard that decision was and how heavy the questions must feel even now. But from what you described, it sounds like your brother was deeply held in peace, not in abandonment. That one moment of him opening his eyes—what if that was his way of saying thank you? Of saying I see you. I love you. It’s okay.
I believe, deeply, that when we make decisions from love, even the most impossible ones, we are never truly wrong.
Sending you so much love and grace as you grieve and heal. I’m honored that my words could offer even a small comfort in your journey.
With my whole heart,
Sara 💛
Thank you for linking your blog on People.com, while I commented there I just wanted you to know I think you’re brilliant and you make me more brave while I try to figure out my own rtd w/maid circumstances, but also have personal barriers in loved ones that make hesitate about going public.
Thank you so much for taking the time to come here and leave such a kind, heartfelt message. It truly means more than I can express. I’m honored that anything I’ve shared has helped you feel even a little braver on your own path—that’s the greatest gift you could give me.
Navigating MAID and end-of-life choices is deeply personal and incredibly complex, especially when loved ones are struggling to understand. Please know you’re not alone in that. There’s no “right” way to be public or private about this—just your way, and it’s okay to honor that at your own pace.
Sending you strength and clarity as you keep walking this path. You are braver than you know.
With love and respect,
Sara 💛